


Because I Could Not Stop for Death

by AnontheNullifier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, Speculative, based on trailers for Infinity war, mentions and implications of death, with a strong hope that it is completely wrong and doesn't happen like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 02:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14149683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: While in the jungles of Wakanda, Vision finds his mind wandering to what happens next.





	Because I Could Not Stop for Death

**Author's Note:**

> It is my sincere belief Vision will be alive at the end of Infinity War, yet I can't stop myself from worrying. This story came from that worry and the recent trailers that show a tearful Wanda and Vision. My other speculative fics based on Infinity War photos and trailers have been mostly wrong, so I am hoping that by writing this story, it means it will be wrong too. That's how it works, right?
> 
> Warning, angst ahead. Which if you enjoy angst, then I hope you enjoy this!

The jungle is alive with susurrations, leaves conversing in the breeze, a chatter of birds, a small tributary babbles less than a quarter mile away, all things that, in any other circumstance would be labeled peaceful, but that peace is eradicated by the distant cacophony of war. Vision lays his head back, ignoring the irritating placement of a stub from a broken branch that is stabbing his neck, and momentarily closes his eyes. Which is a mistake, the instant he removes all other visual stimuli he is overpowered by the nigh constant pulsing of the patched together wound in his side and the terrified, frenetic beat of the Mindstone as its brethren call out for it. His eyes snap open and air rushes soundlessly from his mouth as he attempts to steady his mind and push the pain away. “Vizh?”

Wanda is staring at him , the cut she sustained in Edinburgh bunching together as she allows concern to overtake her face. “I,” there are three potential answers here (at the very least) the socially polite reassurance of  _I am fine_ , the truth, and then redirection, “believe I may be able to keep moving in a few more minutes.” His words drag her mouth down, but Wanda is not the one to deny his suggestion.

“We can defend ourselves here, no need to keep looking.” The new shields became part of Steve’s overall persona far faster than anyone thought possible, so much so Vision is having difficulty remembering Captain Rogers and his star-spangled disc, the image replaced by the present intensity of the now bearded man. “Wanda,” her eyes only now leave Vision, reluctantly sliding to their leader’s face, and whatever it is they discuss, Vision’s attention is already gone, the pain escalating with each agonizing yell from the distant battlefield and each flare of prismatic power that bursts from the gauntlet on Thanos’ hand.

It is only now, in the tense quiet, in the waiting for fate that he finds himself finally accepting what is happening. He is afraid. Not merely the flimsy skittishness of unease he has experienced previously in battle (mainly when Wanda is injured or stumbles), but a deep, suffocating fear that wraps its long fingers around his chest and squeezes until there is no air left for him to gulp.  The thing, Vision discovers only now, with fear is that it is insidious and persistent, an invasive species that forces him to relinquish the usually tight control he has over his thoughts. Now is not the time to meander through the lucid and daunting complexities of life, he should be focused on battle, on what he can do, and yet he cannot seem to quell the raging storm in his mind.

No one is willing to verbalize it, but the truth is plastered on everyone’s face and it is loud and resonant in his own mind: Vision is likely going to die.  It is a fact that had not seemed feasible even a week before when his fingers ran idly through Wanda’s dyed hair, the rain pattering against the hotel window, in fact, he had always taken comfort in the knowledge of the opposite. Of all his teammates, he was the least likely to perish, his very cells sewn with vibranium, the synthetic nature of his organs resistant to aging and disease, never once had he been harmed physically. Until he met the tip of a glaive. Now every reassurance, every surety of his life is tumbling from his grasp. Wanda’s eyes have taken on a sheen of defiance, refusing to accept losing one more person, and that itself terrifies him more. He adores...no, loves her resilience and strength, finds himself equally aggravated and intrigued by her ability to negate logic and stand steadfast based solely on an intuitive and emotionally charged belief that she will persevere. Yet this trait also carries with it a self-sacrificial quality, and if anyone dies today, he needs it to be him, not her.

Which only carries with it a larger, more philosophical quandary he had never found it necessary to consider. What, precisely, happens when you die? He has seen the effects of death on his teammates -- has held Wanda in the middle of the night when the hole left by Pietro widens into unbearable pain. He has seen the anger and irrationality in Stark’s behavior and thoughts at the knowledge and continual rumination of what befell his parents. He has seen the hollowness in the eyes of his teammates when they share war stories, jocular tones of their late comrades’ deeds barely hiding the sorrow of speaking in remembrance instead of with that person at their side. But these are the ripples of death, the impact it leaves on others. What he finds himself honing in on is what would happen to him? The process of death is well documented, the slowing of the organs, the changing in coloration of skin (which he believes may not apply to his synthetic dermis), the rigidity of the muscles before they loosen, and then the decay. This, however, is not comforting to know, because now that he’s lived amongst people, cultivated a life of his own,he cannot imagine simply losing it, never knowing what wondrous feats Wanda completes, how she recovers, moves on, lives a long and fulfilling life.  And it hurts, more than the wound in his side and the raging headache from the Mindstone, to accept he will never know this, never see her again. Perhaps this is why humans rely so much on religion, cling to the notion of an afterlife teeming with the souls of their loved ones, because in this moment that is the only thing that instills in him an odd, illogical hope.

A high-pitched noise fills the sky above them, their eyes lifting to watch the streaks of slate smoke billowing out from another boulder-sized asteroid bearing down into the middle of the battlefield. Suddenly his thoughts flee, heart racing at the click and swish of Steve’s shields activating as his eyes narrow with the resolute nod of his head. “Be ready.”

The finality of the words finally puncture the bulbous pillows collecting in Wanda’s eyes, her features cracking as the tears trickle down, head shaking in time with the quiver of her bottom lip as her eyes find Vision’s. “Vision.”

Emotions were once so foreign to him, he felt them but was incapable of identifying and defining them. Sadness, until he knew what it was, was simply a weight that hung at the bottom of his lungs, one that caused his body to respond slower, mind tied up in distortional thinking. It was only upon knowing the term, linking the two together, that he could define and parse out each separate affective state. His name, when she says it, always carries emotion but never the same one: sometimes it is happy, exhausted, excited, amused, annoyed, awe-stricken, or filled with love (his favorite). Yet right now he can, from two syllables, gather her fear and her anger, her anxiety and anguish, doubtfulness and resolution. “Wanda.” He chokes in the middle of her name, realizing only now how despair can influence his physiological functioning, fattening his tongue and closing his throat. But she rushes to him, drops down onto a knee and brings her palm to his face.

“Vision, we’ll be fine.”

It is a blatant lie, one she does not believe and neither does he, but he accepts it, wraps his right hand around her wrist and brings his left to cover her gloved knuckles. They’ve been running for so long now, clandestine meetings across the world, long nights where the only thing that mattered was the words they whispered and the feel of their bodies and minds synchronizing and embracing, that it is tempting to keep going. Another crash and there is a flicker from behind Wanda, the damaged shield faltering and then falling from around the battlefield. “It is too late.”

“No.”

The crunch of a twig echoes around them as Steve crouches into a stance they’ve practiced hundreds of time in training, voice uncomfortably calm while he narrates what is happening, “Thanos is coming.”

Vision refuses to disengage from Wanda’s gaze, can feel the unfounded notion forming in his mind that if he doesn’t see Thanos then it means he is not there. But that is farcical and unhelpful. The truth is that time is no longer on their side and there is only one thing left for them, one last, final strategy that could save everyone - but him. “We are out of time.” Wanda denies it with a barely discernible shake of her head, and now his tears join her own, fingers tightening around her wrist. “We are out of time, Wanda.” The repetition hurts, the acceptance of their worst fears kickstarting his sympathetic system which screams at him to fight or at least try to fly away with Wanda in his arms, run just a bit longer, yet he has to stop that feeling, his body far too injured to carry on. “I love you.”

A shuddering breath makes her, “I love you,” difficult to decipher, but the desperate press of her lips emphasizes the muffled words, fills him with one last glorious rush of the possibilities of life, of being human. Wanda closes her eyes, sucks in the humid air, and then moves her hand to his forehead, scarlet swirling in his peripheral vision. Shuri confirmed the necessity of the stone for the continued functioning of his nervous system, but in doing so also discovered a way to amplify its power if removed. The prognosis for him was unclear, if not erring on the side of poor, but they left some hope of his return, which Wanda has clung to, and continues to do so as her powers begin to pry the stone from this head. Before she removes it, she kisses him again, leaving him with one last promise, “I’m going to get you back, okay?”

Vision can feel his body grow heavy, thoughts slowing and heart coming to a rest. As his eyelids slip down he can see Wanda stand, Mindstone glowing with a renewed fury in her hand and he can’t help but smile at the beauty of the image. Life did not quite go as planned, but for what it was worth, it has been a privilege to have lived it surrounded by his teammates, his family.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments always appreciated. 
> 
> Now go consume the fluffiest fluff you can find and let's all agree Vision is going to be in the MCU for a long, long time.


End file.
